


figure it out

by skitzopath



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Romance, Slow-ish burn, kind of steamy, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitzopath/pseuds/skitzopath
Summary: Ruling an entire nation while sleep-deprived and over-worked is hard enough for Zuko without a certain Southern Water Tribe Healer antagonizing his every step.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 182





	figure it out

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who clicked on this fix; it’s my first one that I’ve posted, so let me know if you guys want more, and I hope you enjoy :)

There’s a whole nation awaiting Zuko’s testimony—hard-won veteran soldiers, a rainbow of diplomats, thankful civilians, hopeful youths. _His_ nation, he reminds himself as he pulls at the sleeves of his formal robes for the fifteenth time. They wait for his uplifting words, but all Zuko can concentrate on is his lack of sleep and twisting stomach. He’s been conducting these national declarations for two years now, so there’s no reason for him to be this unsettled.

But this declaration is different.

“Zuko.” He stiffens with a sharp inhale, jolting himself from a daze. Iroh walks into his line of sight, tilting his head with a wrinkled smile. “You are delaying your speech. If I would have known you’d take this long, I could have fixed some jasmine tea.”

“I’m sorry, uncle,” Zuko says, bending in a slight bow towards Iroh though his eyes remain unfocused. “Mai usually keeps my timing in check.” It feels strange on Zuko’s tongue, acknowledging Mai’s departure from the Fire Nation and from Zuko.

 _“Who wants to rule a nation at our age?”_ she had said last month over lunch, and the words have remained echoing in Zuko’s mind since then, haunting his every move. _“Who’s even capable of ruling? We’re too young. We should be hating our politics, not conducting them.”_

“Ah, well, it is difficult for a man to function after heartache,” Iroh says sagely, “but love is fluid, nephew. You will move on and find another, perhaps better than before. Or perhaps you will find tea as I did, ha!” Zuko shakes his head before walking towards the doors to his balcony—no longer a pillar and throne above his citizens and allies, but a humble platform just above the heads of his people with nothing more than the four nations’ flags adorning the railing. His left shoulder is cold as two servants open the doors, but Zuko marches forward, just as eager to greet his people as the first time.

Something surges in Zuko’s chest as his people greet him with a warm applause, not one of forced adoration or idolization, but one of understanding and compassion, an acknowledgment of Zuko’s reconstruction of the Fire Nation. A smile breaks his stiff face as he walks proudly towards his people, waving to the beautiful crimson wave before casting his eyes towards the diplomats. As always, his friends are there among the blue and green; Sokka stands tall and resolute at the front of his furred warriors, a smirk permanently stained on his face as Toph glares past him, her black metal armor gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Aang stands at the front of the diplomats in his yellow nomad robes, smiling at the crowd of peaceful, happy citizens, and Zuko knows he and Aang share the same thought as they look at the new Fire Nation. Zuko narrows his eyes against the sun, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark sheen of hair that is always near Aang, but Katara stands toward the back of the Water Tribe ambassadors, twisted away as to a Northern Water Tribe healer.

Zuko begins his greetings with a subdued frown, but he doesn’t dwell on the oddness of Aang and Katara’s distance as he focuses on his people. Besides, he’s probably being too obsessive with little details, something he should have done with Mai. 

It seems that within minutes an hour has passed, and Zuko’s people are roaring and applauding while Iroh pats Zuko’s back with a wide grin.

“Another wonderful address,” Iroh says as Zuko quickly sheds his royal regalia, sighing contently as a servant takes the heavy armor from him.

“The people are so happy now,” Zuko says with a small smile as they make their way towards the stairs down to the main hall. “I can’t believe they’ve come so far in two years, the successes they’ve had.”

“Look at yourself,” Iroh reminds as the noise of the diplomats grows louder. “The most benevolent ruler of the Fire Nation in centuries. You’ve done this, Zuko. You’ve given them room to hope for a happy, successful future.” Zuko smiles at his uncle’s words, and the empty place to his left doesn’t feel so heavy as they walk into the hall to greet the other nations.

“Amazing, incredible, astounding,” Sokka proclaims as he marches towards Zuko, followed closely by Toph and Aang with Katara trailing behind. Zuko chokes on his laughter as Toph punches his shoulder roughly.

“As always, zucchini,” she teases, cloudy eyes narrowed with her thin smirk as Aang reaches for Zuko’s hand.

“I always say this, but this is the Fire Nation I once knew, Zuko,” he says as he shakes Zuko’s hand with a bright smile, and Katara stops next to Sokka with a slight nod to Zuko before glancing off to the side.

“It’s the people’s doing, not mine,” Zuko says humbly, taking his eyes from Katara’s odd expression before giving a smile to his friends. “I always look forward to this though. It’s great to see you all again.”

“Six months is too long,” Sokka complains, reaching for a food sample as a servant passes with a tray. “You need to have your little speeches every two months.” Aang makes a grab for a plate as Sokka digs in with wide eyes. “Make it every month with this meat!”

“There’s vegetarian dishes,” Zuko assures as Aang’s face twists hilariously, and he passes his plate to Sokka with a light laugh, “and delicious cakes, too. A baker just moved from Kirachu Island to the capital, and her superspicy souffles were too amazing to pass up for this banquet.”

“We’ll give you a rating,” Aang says eagerly, and Toph cocks her head, metal armor clinking.

“Where’s Mai?” she asks, foot tapping as Zuko’s smile grows tight on his face. “She’s not even in the palace, zucchini—why is your heartbeat so loud?”

“Mai…left,” Zuko says simply, beckoning for a servant to bring a tray of glass flutes filled with a deep red drink.

“Left?” Katara asks with a prying gaze, always ready for gossip with her eyebrow raised as Zuko takes a glass, needing a place for his hands to settle.

“This,” Zuko starts with a vague gesture, avoiding her eyes and focusing on his uncle’s boisterous laugh as he leads an Earth Kingdom general towards the Pai Sho table, “was not a life she wanted, and I respect that. She never wanted to stay.”

“And obviously she didn’t,” Toph remarks, grinning as Zuko frowns. 

“Good for her,” Katara says with a pointed look at an expressionless Aang, but Sokka breaks their tension by reaching towards Zuko.

“I’m sorry to hear that, buddy,” Sokka says solemnly, looping an arm over Zuko’s shoulders. “But you’re a bachelor now! A sea of ladies waits for the Fire Lord! I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s endeared by your quirky self-consciousness and lack of smiles.”

“Thank you, Sokka, for the confidence boost,” Zuko says drily, huffing a laugh as Toph and Sokka howl with laughter, but Zuko can’t help but watch as Katara walks away, back to a group of her tribe.

“Ah, did something happen?” Zuko asks Aang, and his forcefully pleasant features fall.

“Katara dumped his ass two months ago,” Toph says bluntly, and Aang cringes as he looks down.

“It was a mutual separation,” he mutters dejectedly, but Sokka scoffs as Zuko takes a swig of his drink.

“I warned you, Katara’s too immature for a real relationship,” Sokka says sagely, taking his own glass from a passing tray and tipping it back. “Especially one where she isn’t the center of attention.”

“Don’t be an ass, Sokka,” Zuko scolds, and Toph nods as she pats Aang’s arm consolingly.

“What?” Sokka objects, pointing at Aang. “He needs to find himself a Suki—both of you do!”

“She was like Mai,” Aang explains to Zuko, ignoring Sokka as his sad eyes drift over to where Katara stands. “She didn’t want a life like ours.”

“You two are so depressing,” Sokka complains, already reaching for another glass as he grabs Toph’s shoulder. “Toph and I are going find better conversation.”

“I don’t want to talk about you and Suki,” Toph deadpans, and Sokka gasps indignantly as Zuko and Aang share a discreet laugh.

“I should probably get to greeting the other ambassadors,” Zuko admits, sadly acknowledging that this would likely be the last time he spoke to his friends until they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Times like this make Zuko understand Mai’s reasons for leaving. The hectic life of a ruler is draining and consuming, leaving little to no room for a personal life like Zuko once had, but a trickle of happiness inches through the shroud of disappointment, exhaustion, and anxiety. Even though he has to deal with these formalities, the royal customs, and the all too serious meetings, Zuko has his people at the end of the day, and he takes solace in this.

Zuko is all too eager to bid the last of the lingering ambassadors a relieved goodbye, rushing by Iroh’s curious stare and towards his personal chambers. If Mai were still here, she and Zuko would be sneaking food from the kitchens and sneaking up to the roof just to watch the city at night—but only watch. No matter how many times Zuko would suggest venturing out into the capital, Mai would turn the notion down, saying how they would run into countless annoyances and dirty people, ruining their night. Ruining her night, Zuko thinks now as he slips off the formal silk robes, reaching back into his closet for a worn pair of casual trousers. 

He loved Mai—he still does, he realizes as he stares at the empty space on the excessively large bed—but while he had wanted to stop hating the world, to stop despising the differences, Mai was content to do so for the rest of her life. Zuko shakes his head, pulling the hairpin from his crown and placing the pieces on his dresser. Mai isn’t coming back, and he should be happy to finally spend all of his nights in the city among his people, not dwelling on the numb emptiness floating around him.

“Care for a game, Zuko?” Iroh asks as he passes the Pai Sho table in the main hall, and Zuko smiles at his uncle.

“Not tonight, uncle,” he says as he strides towards the palace doors—too high, too heavy, too dark to Zuko. “I thought it might be a nice night to visit Aika’s bakery to thank her for the wonderful desserts.” Iroh’s eyes brighten as he turns towards Zuko, face breaking into a wide smile.

“Do tell her the fire flake cakes were absolutely divine,” he calls as Zuko’s face grimaces. 

“Uncle—”

“Oh, and be sure to invite her for afternoon tea for me!” Zuko cringes before nodding his thanks to the servants as they open the doors, quickly escaping Iroh’s pleasant laughter as he rushes down the side steps, following the footpath towards the main road to the city. It’s been too long since he’d been in the city without an entourage and a parade in his wake, and Zuko’s lips twitch into an excited smile. He could visit Botan after thanking Aika for her help, perhaps duel and have a few rounds of sake in his shop afterwards.

The sparkling lights of the capital shine brighter the closer Zuko gets, and his smile grows less hesitant as the thrum of night time echoes in his ears. The Fire Nation capital is the city of the night, a dormant beast in the daytime which wakes only to breath its fiery life under the blanket of a dark sky. Zuko still feels the relief he felt two years ago walking into his freed city for the first time in years, and it pushes him closer to the heart of his nation.

As soon as Zuko passes the first shops lining the main street, a burst of warmth and scented spices envelop him as he slips into the perfectly crowded streets. The absentminded chatter, the bartering shop owners, and the sound of little fire starters crackling into the night feel more like home than the palace will ever be to Zuko. Even though passerby recognize the Fire Lord, they don’t act in the over the top ways Zuko once thought would be problematic. The most a person will ever do is a deep bow and a smile before going along with their own business.

Zuko smiles to a lady and her friends who give a slight bow, and a deep sense of contentment settles over him as he walks the streets of the capital in peace. Even in the midst of a confusing heartache and his sleepless exhaustion, his people make him feel infinitely better. 

Zuko wanders towards a bread booth with a pleasant smile on his face, unmovable even by the tired weight in his eyes. The booth owner bows, slight surprise lighting in his eyes as Zuko looks at the artfully twisted and cut breads, and an unusual perfume interrupts the heavenly smell of spiced bread.

“So, the Fire Lord _can_ smile at pleasant things.” Zuko lifts his gaze from the breads and turns to see Katara standing next to him. She raises an eyebrow as Zuko takes a shocked step back. “I guess Sokka was wrong about that part.”

“Hi, Katara,” Zuko greets questioningly, and she scoffs as she turns to the bread seller. “Why are you here?”

“Two hot rolls please,” Katara says, pointing to the red bread rolls before narrowing her eyes at Zuko. “I can do as I please, Mister High and Mighty Fire Lord.”

“No, no that’s not what I meant. At all,” Zuko amends, shooing her handful of coins away and paying the bread seller more than necessary with a twitch of a smile. “I just meant…well, the ambassadors left, right?”

“And?” Katara asks sharply, and Zuko frowns as she takes her rolls with a polite thank you to the bread seller. “Do you always nose around in other people’s affairs?”

“Forget I even asked,” Zuko says exasperatedly, scowling as he feels his mood sour at Katara’s disgruntled presence. Whenever something dampers her usually pleasant mood, everyone knows, and everyone _has_ to be in an equally unpleasant mood as well, but Zuko is going to fight the inevitable for his one night of peace and happiness. He takes a deep breath as Katara’s skeptical gaze pins him, calming his irritation and annoyance before gesturing towards the main road.

“I’m going to Aika’s bakery,” Zuko says calmly, and Katara’s eyes narrow as her lips purse, “to thank her for her services at the banquet.” Looking at the harsh ice in her eyes, Zuko hesitates for a moment before adding, “Walk with me?” Katara blinks, crossing her arms and glancing into the crowd of red.

“Fine,” she says finally, falling into step with Zuko as he slips into the foot traffic towards the west side of the capital. “I’m here on a personal vacation, if you must know. A break from ambassador life.” Zuko nods, waiting for more of an explanation but getting none from her cold expression. He doesn’t dare push it. They walk in a silence comfortable to Zuko, and he smiles at his citizens happily, waving and greeting them with quick ‘hellos’ and ‘good evenings.’

“I didn’t know you were so friendly,” Katara muses at his side, her expression less troubled than before as she and Zuko pass a firebending show, and he shrugs. 

“It’s helpful to know your citizens,” Zuko remarks, pausing to watch an impressive trick that makes the crowd shout. “And I quite like the company of them.”

“You aren’t talking to any of them,” Katara points out drily, but Zuko smiles nonetheless, moving past the show and down a side street.

“I don’t feel like I need to,” he explains as they pass children playing with fire snappers. “I’m comfortable with just being here, walking with my people and enjoying what they enjoy.”

“You’re so weird, Zuko.” He shrugs, and she scoffs.

“I know.” He breaks into a slight jog towards a brightly colored door underneath a hand-painted sign, opening the door and tilting his head towards Katara. “After you.”

“I wish you were this polite when you were chasing us,” Katara says with a smirk, and Zuko frowns as she walks in.

“Where would the fun have been then?” he says hesitantly, hoping for a joking tone, and Katara eyes him as they walk through the sparsely crowded bakery. “Never mind. Bad joke.”

“Just a bit,” Katara agrees, elbowing Zuko’s side with a slight smile. “But you’re getting there.” At her smile—an upward turn of her thin lips that edges the crossness from her dark eyes—nerves worm their way into his brain for no reason, and he offers a twitchy smile before making his way towards the register.

“Miss Aika?” Zuko calls, peering over the counter and smiling as a squat lady comes running towards him.

“Fire Lord Zuko!” she shouts exuberantly, reaching across to shake his hand vigorously as her eyes widen happily behind her glasses. “You’ve come to the shop! I have a fresh batch of hotcakes coming out the oven now. They’re on the house for you and your girlfriend! And the mochi, too. You have to have my niece’s signature recipe. It wipes out every other baker’s by a long shot—even mine, ha!”

“T-That’s not necessary, Miss Aika,” Zuko rushes out, flustered by the sudden barrage of offers and incorrect assumptions, but Aika shakes her head, frizzy gray hairs flying from her bun as she throws her hands towards Katara.

“Of course it is! Look at your girlfriend compared to you; you’re stick thin!” Aika cries, and Zuko doesn’t dare glance at Katara, flinching as Aika’s finger points to him. “What kind of man are you? Your uncle must have taught you better manners when it comes to treating women. Sit, sit! Pull out a chair for her and I’ll bring the hotcakes and mochi.”

“Tea is fine, Miss Aika,” Zuko manages weakly, bowing his head in defeat as Aika clicks her tongue.

“Tea _and_ hotcakes,” she demands, and before Zuko can object she silences him with a stern face. “That’s it! What are you doing still standing here? Get a table! You’re the Fire Lord; you should be a gentleman like your uncle.”

“Uncle says to meet him for afternoon tea,” Zuko mentions tiredly, suppressing the embarrassment burning from his neck up, and Aika goes quiet, lips parting before closing in a smile.

“Good,” she says happily before shooing Zuko away, and he doesn’t dare look at Katara as he leads her to a table away from the amused looks from other customers. He pulls out a chair roughly, looking at the floor as Katara sits.

“I forgot to mention, ah, her chattiness,” Zuko forces out as he sits down. His back and shoulders tense as Katara snorts, and he risks looking up, finding her hands over her mouth and hilarity shining in her eyes before she bursts into a loud laugh.

“That,” she wheezes, wiping her eyes as Zuko rests his burning face in his hands. “ _That_ was hilarious. You may not be able to joke, but you sure are great at being the end of one.”

“I’m sorry for her incorrect assumptions about us,” Zuko mutters stiffly, cringing as Katara cackles and glaring at her. “You are worse than Sokka, you know that, right? I’m trying to apologize and amend this situation, and here you are, laughing at me.”

“What’s there to amend?” Katara asks as her laughter subsides, but the smile still remains. “There was no harm done in the slightest. I find it so ridiculous its hilarious.”

“Yeah, definitely worse than Sokka,” Zuko says, nodding his appreciation to one of Aika’s waiters as she places a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of hotcakes on the table.

“Aw, did I hurt the Fire Lord’s feelings?” Katara teases as Zuko smells the tea, recognizing the strong smell of ginseng as he pours the tea into the cups. “I’m sorry you didn’t inherit any of your uncle’s womanizing charms.”

“That is something I need work on,” Zuko admits, shaking away his embarrassment as he stirs honey into his tea.

“Does your uncle always go with afternoon tea as his pickup line?” Katara asks as she dives into a hotcake, and Zuko huffs a laugh.

“It’s one of his go-to lines,” Zuko says, sipping his tea. “He says that the first step to making a woman fall in love is through the perfect cup of tea.” Katara raises her eyebrow, looking down at the pot of tea and then back to Zuko, and he can’t contain the flush of color that creeps up his face.

“Really now?” she asks with a chuckle as Zuko puts his cup down harshly.

“This isn’t like that,” he snaps, glaring as Katara shrugs, leaning back in her chair as she bites into a hotcake.

“Oh really, Fire Lord? Because you’re blushing like a damsel right now,” she teases, and Zuko clenches his jaw before sipping his tea angrily. This was supposed to be his calm, relaxing night, and miraculously, it has turned into an Embarrass Zuko Contest, and Zuko is not a fan. “Maybe it’s just the hot tea, though, right?

“Oh yes, that’s exactly the reason,” he grumbles as she snorts. “It’s not like I’m having my entire reputation shat on. No, it’s just the hot tea I can’t handle.” Katara’s sharp grin softens as she picks up a hotcake and holds it out to Zuko.

“Peace?” she asks, and he takes the hotcake with a huff, trying to relax his shoulders as Katara takes a sip of her tea.

“Peace,” Zuko repeats and taps her teacup with a finger, watching her eyes dance in the dim light, “and if I _were_ chasing after you, Ambassador, I would certainly have better tea than this.” Katara rolls her eyes, covering her grin as Aika shouts from across the restaurant, and Zuko’s blood goes cold as his fearful eyes catch Katara’s, mirth and warmth swimming in those blue depths. He imagines he wouldn’t mind having those eyes on him forever.

Zuko’s weekend morning is filled with meetings about a civil revolt in the north against the nation’s taxes, initiating new trade routes, and preparations for the Fire Lily Festival in two months. After a meal-less lunch debate with one of his officers stationed in the east, Zuko finally finds quiet time for himself at the balcony outside his room. The warm summer wind on his face reminds Zuko of his exhaustion, and he leans against the balcony, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. Meetings always leave him drained, especially when he’d rather be dueling in the city or trying to master Pai Sho with Iroh.

 _Or having tea with Katara_ , he thinks, smiling to himself as he remembers the pleasant walk through the capital two nights ago. It had felt good making her smile and laugh, to talk about food, tea, and the little things in life rather than battle strategies, public matters, and the sadder times. All Mai had wanted was to talk about the wrongs of life and her favorite things to hate, and Zuko shakes the thought from his head, stretching as a knock sounds at his door.

“There’s someone requesting your presence at the main entrance, Fire Lord,” the severe looking servant says as Zuko opens his door, and he frowns. “Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, clearing his throat as the thoughts from moments ago come back more vivid and embarrassing than before. “Thank you.” The servant bows as Zuko rushes down the hall and towards the stairs, stumbling as he wonders how exhausted and disoriented he looks, but he scoffs and shakes his head. That shouldn’t—doesn’t matter to him. What he should be considering is whether Katara is in trouble, otherwise she wouldn’t have come at all. Yes, something must be wrong, which isn’t good in the slightest, Zuko realizes as he quickens his stride down the stairs and into the main hall where he sees dark hair curl against a blue shirt.

“Katara,” Zuko greets anxiously, watching her expression as she turns to him. Her eyes glint with irritation as she marches towards him, and Zuko falters. Even the servants at the doors look uneasy as Katara puts a finger to Zuko’s chest, and his breath catches.

“What do you do when you’re pissed beyond belief?” Katara demands, and Zuko blinks.

“Um,” Zuko says intelligently, and Katara sighs loudly, crossing her arms and glaring up at Zuko.

“Come on, I know you have anger issues,” Katara continues bluntly, and Zuko opens his mouth to object, but thinks better of it as Katara’s eyes narrow and her lips thin.

“I—I duel,” Zuko starts, shaking his head as Katara scoffs. “In the dueling grounds here or with my friend in the city. It helps to just…let it out, I suppose.” Katara stares at Zuko, seemingly analyzing the depths of his character and judging his flaws, and he looks away self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tea. Making tea also helps. It’s a great deal healthier—”

“Let’s go,” Katara interrupts, cocking her head as Zuko doesn’t move.

“Tea?” he says hopefully, a thrill of fear gluing him in place. 

“We’re dueling. Now,” Katara demands, walking past Zuko in the opposite direction of the dueling grounds. She looks back at him with a violent glare that makes him shudder. “Unless you’re too busy being the Fire Lord?”

“No, not at all,” Zuko says quietly, clearing his throat and gesturing towards the living areas. “It’s out the back.” With a huff of irritation, Katara marches past him, tying up her hair as Zuko glances at the stunned servants with an equally baffled expression before stumbling after Katara.

“Can I ask why you’re pissed?” Zuko starts tentatively as he jogs into the enclosed outdoor area, a puff of warm wind blowing back his robes and rippling across the water surrounding the outdoor dueling grounds. “I’m just a little concerned, you know, as a friend.”

“You are fully capable of doing so,” Katara starts, and Zuko pales as she strips off her shirt and tosses it to the side. She turns to him in nothing but her wraps and pants, and she stretches her arms over her head as her eyes pierce Zuko’s, confident to a fault, but he isn’t objecting. “But I advise against it, Fire Lord.” The harsh, brutal lilt in her icy voice does something in Zuko that he can’t comprehend—doesn’t _want_ to comprehend—so he turns away and fumbles with his robe’s tie.

“It’s just—this is a surprise,” Zuko says as he fights with his shirt, cursing his shaking hands as he throws the shirt down. _And I’m terrified of the most skilled waterbender in history,_ Zuko thinks, warily glancing towards Katara as she continues to stretch, face hard with a scowl as Zuko approaches her.

“There were only so many bread rolls I could buy before I was fed up with life,” Katara says, and her hands twist towards the water wells, pulling out a river of water that casts her in a marbled shadow of blue and makes her eyes glow. “Is the water here in case your temper gets out of control?”

“It seems like you want to find out,” Zuko hedges, narrowing his eyes and raising his fists. Katara smirks, and there’s only a moment of quiet before her eyes glint and water is whipping towards Zuko in a fluid motion. Fire explodes from his hands, vaporizing the bullet of water into a puffy cloud of steam.

“I happen to be very curious about your temper,” Katara remarks, blocking the fiery tongues of fire from Zuko’s right leg with an elegant shield of rolling water. “To see if you ever really got it under control.”

“Curiosity can leave scars,” Zuko says, falling to his side to dodge a stream of water and countering with a burst of flame aimed at Katara’s feet. She stumbles back, sweeping her arm in an arc to bring a tidal wave of water over the ground. The flames stop in their tracks.

“You’d know.” Katara brings her arms over her head, forming a mess of water tendrils and freezing them.

“That’s why I said it,” Zuko manages through gritted teeth, sprinting towards Katara and sliding under the whistling icicles. The wet dirt of the dueling grounds’ floor muddies his side as he twists up and spins a wheel of flame around himself. Katara falls back with a winded gasp, though it’s not enough to incapacitate her bending. Another wave of water bristling with white foam flies over Zuko, and he blasts himself away with a taxing burst of flame, barely missing the collapsing wave of water that soaks into the dirt.

“You’re getting a little rusty,” Katara laughs as Zuko pushes himself up, wiping a hand down his side and grimacing at the mud. “Maybe Fire Lords lose stamina from sitting on their asses all day long. Well, at least in your case.” She’s attempting to spite him, and for the spirits’ sakes it shouldn’t be working, but there’s a flicker of competitive rage broiling under Zuko’s skin, and it flares at her words. He vaporizes another whip of water with the flick of his wrist, and he runs towards her, knowing that unlike him, Katara never trained in close hand combat.

Surprise wipes the mirthful glint from her eyes as Zuko vaporizes the feeble strand of water at her fingertips, locking his leg behind hers. He tips his hand under her forearm and twists while shoving his leg backwards, sending Katara to the dirt. Though he’d never admit it, Zuko does feel the heaviness in his breaths as he jumps over another wave of water Katara sends as she stumbles upwards.

“What’s that about my stamina?” Zuko breaths triumphantly as he watches Katara sneer at her mud-covered clothes in disgust, but his confidence withers as she grins wickedly, not even pausing for a breath as she dives forwards, bringing her arms and a massive wave over her head. Zuko slips on the muddied ground in an attempt to escape the wave, but Katara twists her arms fluidly, and the water sharpens to a whip that wraps around his leg.

A sliver of panic splices Zuko’s cool disposition, and his hands send tongues of hot red flames towards his ankle, releasing him from the hold of the water. He stumbles back into the muddiest pit in the dueling grounds, breathing heavily and frowning as Katara smiles widely.

“Silly Fire Lord,” she says teasingly, raising one hand gracefully as she looks Zuko up and down. Zuko’s stomach drops as frigid tendrils crawl up his legs, and he looks down to see the mud covered in a sheen of smoking frost. “Do they fail to teach you strategy, too? What a pity.”

Zuko frantically sends out waves of fire and heat towards his feet, the competitive voice in his head screaming its refusal to admit defeat. The ice keeps slipping up his legs at a quickening rate as Katara feeds water to the icy mud, and he knows he’s done. He still fights the losing battle, expending all of his angry energy on melting to no avail until his hands and abdomen are trapped in frigid ice.

“That,” Zuko pants, cold, sore, and disappointed as Katara cleans the mud from her clothes in a simple swipe of water. “That was a dirty trick.” Katara shrugs as Zuko bows his head in defeat, grimacing as she melts the ice, soaking his pants in cold, muddy water.

“You fell for it,” Katara points out, giving Zuko a cheeky grin significantly happier than the ones from early. Zuko turns to walk towards his shirt, hiding a smile as he realizes he won in his own way. “You know that expression better than sex? Well, that was definitely better.”

“I thought I didn’t have stamina?” Zuko says without a thought, and he stiffens as Katara howls in laughter.

“You—You actually made a joke!” she cries as Zuko scowls, quickly picking up his shirt to hide the red he knows is burning his chest and neck. “Aw, are you embarrassed?”

“No,” Zuko lies through his teeth, looking down at his muddy chest before dropping his arms with a sigh. He reluctantly turns to Katara, cringing as she laughs even more, and he gestures to the mud. “Please clean up your mess.”

“You could just jump in the gully,” Katara remarks as she picks up her shirt and walks towards Zuko. He turns his gaze away, waiting for Katara to slip the shirt over her head and waterbend her dirt and water off him, but she keeps her stride towards him, stopping less than arm’s length away. There’s a careful look in her eyes that makes him wary, and he opens his mouth to question just as she raises her dampened shirt to his chest.

Zuko stiffens, blood running cold and heart attacking his ribcage as Katara wipes the mud from his chest. Her eyes never leave his face, her expression blank and curious as Zuko’s eyes flit all over the place and his mind fumbles for a logical sentence, for a logical feeling among the mess in his head.

“What—What are you doing? Why?” Zuko sputters with his wide eyes trained on Katara, inhaling sharply as her hand dips down to his stomach, and a bloom of heat burns across his chest as he flinches involuntarily.

“Can’t I take care of friend without being questioned?” Katara shoots back, but she draws her hand away with a pinched expression, and Zuko isn’t sure what to make of the roiling emotions cluttering his brain as Katara draws the water from her shirt and tosses it to the gully. Her eyes leave no room to search for what she’s thinking, leaving Zuko slipping on his bafflement. “Sorry, that was a little weird. I was being lazy.”

“W-Wait.” Zuko swallows thickly as Katara’s gaze sends ice shooting down his back, but Zuko knows exactly what he wants to say, knows he shouldn’t say it, and Katara’s narrow eyes are alight with too many things that make his tongue feel too heavy in his mouth.

“Yes?” She prompts sharply, and Zuko just shakes his head, turning towards the gully and jumping in. He isn’t particularly fond of the water, but the coolness running over his skin is much better than the oh-so obvious embarrassment staining his skin. The gully is just slightly deeper than his height, so he pushes off the bottom and breaks the surface, flicking his hair out of his face to look up at Katara’s questioning face.

“We’re both weird,” Zuko says simply, hiding the pitch in his voice as he brushes the mud off his chest and shakes his pant legs.

“That we are,” Katara agrees with a sigh, stepping back as Zuko hoists himself up onto the edge of the floor.

“Which means we can leave whatever _that_ was,” Zuko gestures to Katara’s shirt, and she huffs, “alone and unmentioned.”

“I’m sorry, you’re just so damn fine and irresistible,” Katara drawls as Zuko stands, and she flicks her wrist at him, sending the water on his body flying back into the gully. “Pitiful, scrawny, and damaged just turns me on.” The sarcasm tainting her words drive a knife into Zuko, and he forces his face to remain blank as he tugs his shirt over his head, unwilling to let his temper flare and his heart to hurt.

“It turns everyone on, didn’t you know?” Zuko says drily, stooping to pick up his formal robes and picking specks of dust from them. “I’m the most wanted bachelor in the capital because of my traumatic past and emotional baggage. Everyone loves to throw me pity parties right and left.”

“Okay, I went too far,” Katara starts, a real apology clinging to her words, but Zuko’s done for the moment, so he just shrugs and turns towards the dueling grounds’ exit.

“It’s not too far if it’s true,” Zuko says, tying his robes and walking away. “Though we probably shouldn’t make a habit of hacking at each other’s pasts, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Katara says faintly as Zuko walks out without a glance over his shoulder, even though Katara tries to call him back, and his face is still in perfectly schooled apathy as he passes Iroh.

“You’ve lost some of your form, Zuko,” Iroh says, falling into step with him as he marches towards his private chambers. “Or did you _let_ the lovely lady beat you?”

“I have paperwork to attend to, Uncle,” Zuko says through gritted teeth, turning to Iroh and bowing, watching Katara stand near the dueling grounds’ entrance from the corner of his eye. “Please make sure I’m not disturbed.” Zuko takes to the stairs, stifling the angry pain burning through his veins. He understands the instinct to make others feel pain in times of suffering; he’d done it for so many years during his banishment, taken out his pain on so many undeserving people. Maybe this is the spirits giving him a taste of his own medicine.

But this taste was too bitter, and the spirits must be pulling a dirty trick, Zuko realizes as he slams his doors shut too harshly. Katara’s words burn themselves into his mind— _damaged_ ; that one sticks—as he slips into his desk chair and buries his face into his hands. It’s so very bitter because he can’t help but wish the hand touching his chest had stayed for longer, stayed and lost the shirt to where her fingertips were on his bare skin, tracing and looping lower and lower—but he’s too damaged for that.

Zuko’s eyes are closed when a knock sounds at his chamber’s door, and he jolts upwards, uneasy unconsciousness still fogging his brain as he peels a sheet of paper from his face, wiping drool with a disgusted hiss. Iroh bursts through the door, bringing in the bright light of the morning as he walks towards his nephew’s desk, and Zuko groans into his hands.

“I’m late for another meeting, I know,” Zuko says tiredly, not even bothering to rush as he pushes back his chair, standing and wincing at the twinge in his back. “I’m ready, I’m ready. Let’s go.” Iroh gives Zuko a strange look, and Zuko straightens the pile of tax papers with a suppressed yawn.

“Zuko,” Iroh starts and gestures to the balcony where the bright sun sparkles. “It’s five in the afternoon. All of your meetings have been handled today, and General Lee should deliver an update tomorrow morning.” It takes a moment for Zuko to register his uncle’s words, and then his eyes widen, and he doesn’t know where to panic, how to panic in response to this, but the tax papers in his hands seem like a wonderful place to start.

The papers incinerate in his hands, and he flinches as the ashes fall to the floor. Iroh starts to approach him, uttering words of assurance, but Zuko moves away, shaking his head and fisting his hands.

“Why was no one sent to wake me?” he demands, and Iroh gives him a stern stare.

“I told the servants to leave you in peace,” Iroh says, clearing his throat as Zuko throws a frustrated stream of flames into the empty space between his desk and bed. “You needed rest, Fire Lord Zuko. When was the last time you slept in your bed? The last time you joined me in the dining hall?” Zuko takes a deep breath, hearing Iroh’s footsteps approaching him. “You need rest, Zuko.”

“My nation does not deserve a leader who rests whenever he pleases,” Zuko says coldly, pushing his hands into his eyes in an attempt to force the sleepy blur from them.

“They also don’t deserve a leader who neglects his health,” Iroh reprimands forcefully, and a hand falls on Zuko’s tensed shoulder. “You have proved yourself to your people. You can rest for a few days, Fire Lord Zuko. You _need_ to rest.” His knees give out, and Zuko falls into his desk chair, running his hands through his hair.

“Rulers aren’t supposed to have vacation and sick days, Uncle,” Zuko says quietly, slowly accepting the fact that yes, he’s been working for a month straight, running on stolen snacks from the kitchen, an occasional cold meal, and sporadic naps at his desk, and yes, he is so very, very exhausted.

“You are allowed moments to yourself,” Iroh says, and Zuko looks up at his uncle’s smile. “You are allowed to enjoy yourself, and you are allowed to heal, nephew. This is the time where you should heal, and then enjoy yourself. Leave the politics to your council—that’s why they are here!”

“I forget about them,” Zuko mutters, and Iroh chuckles as he pulls a small scroll from his robe.

“I advise against mentioning that to them,” Iroh remarks and hands Zuko the scroll. “This is from Katara. Quite a fiery spirit, is she not?”

“Very.” Zuko looks down at the neatly rolled parchment, nodding towards his departing uncle before unfolding the scroll.

_Zucchini,_

_Meet me at Aika’s bakery whenever you can. Please._

_K_

Zuko’s eyes narrow as he scowls, tossing the scroll onto his desk before leaning back in his chair with a long sigh. The bitterness is back, but a vain speck of hope manages to taint his negative disposition, and it’s driving him insane because he can’t forget the hug of wet fabric around Katara’s body, not for the life of him. Zuko curses his horniness, curses the heat spilling from his cheeks to his neck, and he also curses Katara and the “pitiful, scrawny, and damaged” Fire Lord she sees.

Zuko made a habit of avoiding mirrors and reflective surfaces long ago, and it’s like clockwork the way he avoids seeing himself. No one remarks on his physical appearance too often anymore, but Katara’s words stick uncomfortably close to his skin, forcing him towards the bathroom he rarely uses. He passes a hand in front of him, igniting the array of candles, and he instinctively stiffens at the mirror.

 _Spirits, I need sleep,_ Zuko thinks, hand lifting to his cheek before drifting over to his twisted scar. Zuko already knows he’s damaged, but it hurts to have others still look at him like that, especially one of his closest friends, but he’s tired of lamenting over her meaningless words, except for one.

“Am I really that scrawny?” Zuko mutters to himself, letting his arms drift to his sides and analyzing his reflection. He takes off his formal robes and drapes them over a chair, turning to the side and frowning at himself.

There is no way…but she had seen him shirtless, and Katara isn’t one to lie without meaning. _Why do I care_ , Zuko thinks and cuts his hand through the air sharply, killing the flames and stalking out the bathroom. Scrawny. She’s delusional. That’s all...but hadn’t Mai mentioned a similar comment once before? Even Aika made a remark about it, and Uncle did say he was losing his form. Zuko freezes in horror, momentarily forgetting his exhaustion and his health all together as he marches out of his chamber and down the stairs.

“Zuko.” Iroh’s sharp voice doesn’t deter Zuko from his beeline towards the palace doors.

“I’m going enjoy myself!” Zuko calls over his shoulder, slipping out of the doors and jogging down the path towards the capital’s main road. The sun had already set, but Zuko could still feel angry, baffled heat that makes his hands fist and jaw clench. Katara is beyond ridiculous at this point, or perhaps Zuko has passed the point of sleep-deprived delirium. Either way, he cannot— _will_ not—let his reputation be turned into one of the scrawny, damaged Fire Lord. What would his people think? He can’t let them remember him in such a way.

Zuko manages to hastily make his way to Aika’s without too many odd stares from his citizens, but every look sears embarrassment into him, and Zuko swears he’s going to kill Katara for this. The bakery bustles with customers, but Zuko politely excuses himself until he’s in the shop, fervently looking around for blue—blue, such a disgusting color, he realizes—and his gaze falls on a dark head of braided hair that falls onto a blue tunic.

“You are _ridiculous_ ,” Zuko seethes quietly as he approaches Katara, and she turns in surprise, meeting his furious glare with a cool look of her own.

“Iroh said you took ill,” Katara remarks, gesturing for Zuko to sit across from her, and he does so furiously. “I knew you were just pulling some pansy bullshit.”

“Me, bullshit? No, no, it’s _you_ who’s been pulling bullshit,” Zuko hisses, eyes darting around the shop before Katara waves a hand in front of his face.

“Which is why I asked to see you,” Katara mutters, and her gaze drops to the table as she rests her chin in her hand. “To apologize for my bullshit.” Zuko stops himself, biting back the rant he had been preparing as Katara looks to him. “I…it’s been a long, _long_ month, which is no excuse to use you as my personal verbal punching bag. You didn’t deserve any of that, and I’m…I’m really sorry, Zuko.”

Katara doesn’t look expectant as she keeps Zuko’s stare; her features are lined with patience and…and worry, Zuko realizes. Anxiety is written in the lines creases her forehead and the slight dip of her eyebrows, in the bitten lip and in her dark eyes.

“After leaving Aang,” Katara starts hesitantly when Zuko remains silent, the hand supporting her chin shifting, “I stopped travelling with him and went back to the Southern Water Tribe to rewrite customs and rules, and to help Sokka, too. I felt so…” Katara trails off, scowling to herself before blinking away the resentment. “so useless there. I mean, I wasn’t useless. I did more than Sokka most days, but I couldn’t find time to think about myself. I drowned in the paperwork and politics, and when I decided to take a personal leave here…”

“You were thinking about yourself,” Zuko supplies, and Katara nods. “Everything just spilled over.”

“It’s so stupid,” she says angrily, covering her face with her hands with a deep sigh. “And you don’t need to hear this. You’re busy enough as it is, and this is so silly and stupid.”

“I’m—I’m fine with listening to you,” Zuko says quietly, looking down at the table and picking up a cold hotcake. “I understand it—truly. It isn’t stupid. You didn’t have anyone you thought you could talk to, and everything became bottled up.” Zuko’s mind flashes with memories of yelling at his uncle, memories of turning away time and time again until he finally reached his breaking point—a point much more violent and chaotic than Katara’s. “I understand.”

“I thought you might.” Zuko glances at Katara, watching as she looks to the crowd of customers with a sad frown. “I wanted to tell you a few weeks ago, but you’ve done so much and have your whole life together, I didn’t want to intrude.” An amused huff escapes Zuko, and Katara’s eyes narrow.

“My life is anything but put together,” Zuko says with a sigh, and he bites into the hotcake. “I never sleep, I barely eat, I miss so many meetings—I was on my way here to _scream_ at you, Katara. Does that sound put together for you?”

“Not really,” Katara says with a chuckle, and Zuko is shocked at the softness in the blue eyes that stare at him. “I’m really sorry, Zuko. I’ve been an ass.”

“You have.”

“A total pain and rude fucker.”

“I can’t disagree,” Zuko says, lips twitching towards a smile as Katara laughs. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you think it’s worth the risk, by all means go ahead,” Katara says, eyes gleaming as Zuko takes another bite of the hotcake.

“Am I really scrawny?” he asks, and there is a note of hesitation tugging at his voice, but Katara’s eyes flit over him in less than a second, tracing him like he imagines her hands would—which is _bad_ , imagining that is very, very bad in a public setting, so stuff it, Zuko—and Katara looks away, frowning.

“That’s really not for me to say,” she says nonchalantly, and her thin smile falls from her lips. “Which reminds me how horrifically sorry I am for what happened after we dueled—and I know you said we shouldn’t discuss it, but I crossed a line, and I…I’ve just messed up so much this week.”

“Who said that was the part you messed up?” The words are out in the open before Zuko can process the thought, because he knows Katara definitely did not mess up, but the surprise widening her eyes and lifting her brows tells Zuko she was under the impression that she had.

“That…you don’t think so?” Katara counters, voice lilting into cautiously teasing territory as Zuko clears his throat, stuffing his unfaithful mouth with another hotcake to blame the heat flushing his cheeks.

“Meh,” Zuko says intelligently, avoiding Katara’s gaze and focusing on the sick feeling in his stomach; apparently a diet of hotcakes, sake, and tea tends not to agree with him.

“If that happens to be the case—Zuko?” The hotcake in Zuko’s hand falls to the plate, and he can feel his face and palms grow clammy as his stomach revolts against his atrocious diet.

“Bin, trash bin,” he says stiffly, forcing his mouth shut as Katara jumps up and grabs the nearest bin, bringing it towards Zuko just as the bile becomes too much for him to hold back.

Katara is generous enough to walk Zuko back to the palace after Aika fussed at Zuko, gave him a jar of ginger tea— _“Not on the house this time, Fire Lord!”_ —and shooed him from the bakery. Though it made him weaker than before, walking did settle his stomach after hurling discreetly into a potted plant three more times. He had even deigned to let Katara wrap an arm around him in case his knees decided to give out again; whether it was out of utter exhaustion or mortification, he couldn’t decipher.

“My people, they’ll think I’m a drunk,” Zuko mutters, horrified, and Katara shakes her head as they walk up the palace steps, their shadows dark under the light of a full moon. “A drunk who ruins their restaurants and potted plants.”

“I’m sure that’s the last thing on their minds, Zuko,” Katara assures, catching him as his knees give out on the last step. Her face furrows into concern, and Zuko burns under her gaze. “They’re probably worried to death about their Fire Lord, just like I am.”

“I’m your Fire Lord, eh?” Zuko mumbles to himself, but Katara scoffs as she waves away the skeptical guards at the door.

“You’re the _only_ Fire Lord, dumbass,” Katara says, stopping in the middle of the empty hall. “Which way is your room?”

“Private chambers are this way.” Zuko jerks his head towards the stairs, and Katara guides them up, catching Zuko twice before they reach his door.

“I’m going to heal you, just to make sure you aren’t actually dying,” Katara says as she opens the door with her back, and Zuko sends a series of weak flames out to the candles in the room, bathing it in soft light. “No objections.”

“So pushy,” Zuko grumbles, breaking away from Katara and stumbling towards his bed, feeling awfully faint and dizzy as he tries to kick off his shoes. Black sparks dart at the corners of his eyes, and he takes a deep breath before hauling himself onto the bed.

“I’m dealing with you. I have to be pushy,” Katara remarks as Zuko flops back, shallow breaths escaping his lungs as he shuts his eyes. “Take off your shirt.”

“Give me…give me a minute,” Zuko says weakly, holding on to a deep breath before exhaling slowly and bringing his shaky fingers to the buttons of his shirt. “This is not how I imagined getting undressed.”

“Oh, so you’ve imagined it?” Katara asks mirthfully, and Zuko fumbles with the first button, eyes still closed.

“I meant in general,” he snaps, though it lacks bite as Katara laughs. “Obviously.”

“So obvious,” Katara agrees, and Zuko peers at her through one eye as he finishes with his buttons, pushing himself up with a sigh before shedding the shirt. Katara uncorks her water flask and bends the water to her hands, walking towards Zuko until she’s between his legs. He tries not to think about the other reasons they would be in a position like this—reasons involving lips, teeth, tongues, moans, and Zuko should really focus on _not fainting_ , which has become exponentially more difficult the moment Katara’s hands touch his chest.

“You’re not.” Zuko looks up from her glowing hands to the bright eyes that must see the heat on his cheeks. He swallows drily.

“Not what?”

“Scrawny,” Katara says, looking at him as if it were obvious before continuing to focus on her hands. “Lie down.”

“Why?” Zuko asks faintly, and Katara narrows her eyes.

“So I can see if there are ulcers in your stomach, idiot,” she says snippily, and Zuko lays back, ignoring the wonderfully indecent thoughts crashing through his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you stressed yourself into having a sickness at this point.” He flinches as the water flows over his abdomen, cool and tingly and altogether a dreadfully dangerous combination. His jaw clenches, and he raises one of his hands, focusing on weaving a small stripe of fire between his fingers as Katara’s hands move the water in circles that drift dangerously lower.

“Neat trick,” Katara says, removing her hands from Zuko as the fire stripe dissipates and he sits up. “Turn around.”

“Find anything that could kill me?” Zuko asks as he slowly turns his back to Katara, glad to hide his face in his knees.

“Aside from overworked muscles, no.” Katara’s hands press the cool water against Zuko’s back, and a content sigh breaks from Zuko’s tight lips as Katara’s bending eases the tension and ache out of his back. “Spirits, you need to rest.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Zuko mutters, wincing as the healing water pulls at the crick in the back of neck. “Can I ask another question?”

“If you’re willing, be my guest,” Katara says, taking the water from Zuko’s back and guiding it back into her water flask before facing Zuko and resting her hip against the bed.

“If I’m not scrawny,” Zuko starts, knowing belatedly he should shut up, “what am I?” Katara’s pleasant face snaps into a cool look of nonchalance, and her eyes drift towards the half-opened door.

“You’re quite appealing to look at,” Katara says blandly, and Zuko lips tip up.

“Really?” he asks, and she nods, looking like a bird ready to flit out the door, and spirits, Zuko really wants her to stay.

“I guess,” she says before smirking, and Zuko’s smile falls. “Not half bad for a guy with low stamina.”

“And how exactly do you know I have low stamina?” Zuko asks tightly, knowing _he’s_ the one crossing a line now, but unlike him, Katara doesn’t waver and panic. Instead she takes a step closer, eyes never leaving Zuko’s face but certainly dropping below his eyes.

“A guess, really,” she says, lips flickering into a smirk as she leans closer, close enough to where Zuko is conscious of his breathing and worrying he smells like vomit.

“Do you think that’s true?” he mutters lowly, and great spirits, Katara takes her dark eyes and rakes them down his body as she wets her lips, and that alone does something in the pit of his gut that makes his lips part with a strained exhale.

“We’ll have to figure it out, won’t we?” Katara says, tipping closer and placing her hands on Zuko’s burning chest. A moan strangles in his throat as her cool hands drag across his skin, and he grunts as she pushes him down onto the bed, leaning over him with a ruthless smirk. Begging is so beneath Zuko, but he’s very much willing to do so if it means cutting this bullshit foreplay.

“Yeah, figuring it out is a really, really good idea,” Zuko breathes, waiting for Katara to do _anything_ at all. To just move her still hands over his chest would be more than enough, but he’s not one to be pushy or to ask for too much, so he bites the inside of his cheek and watches Katara. Her eyes are dark, half-lidded pools of careful desire, and her sharp smile softens, like the electric sexual tension in the room doesn’t even exist.

“You need to rest, don’t you?” she asks, and before he can insist that _no_ , he definitely does not need rest, he’d much rather very aerobic, heated activities, she’s pulling away, escaping the mingle of warm breaths that smell like sweet hotcakes and vomit thanks to Zuko. “Afternoon tea tomorrow?” Zuko can’t contain a violent shudder as Katara’s fingers drag down his chest, and he _almost_ moans in disappointment as they lift away.

“Tea?” Zuko croaks as Katara pushes away, and as she walks to the door, she turns back with a smile and the faintest tint of red on her tanned cheeks.

“I enjoy cinnamon tea a great deal,” she remarks before shutting his door, leaving Zuko in a flustered and confused silence enhanced by his exhaustion and delirium. That was definitely _not_ a message to misinterpret, and as Zuko’s sluggish mind connects the dots, his entire body positively _boils_ at the thought.

Zuko doubts he’s ever been more thrilled and nervous about an afternoon tea. He doubts he’s ever been so confused about an afternoon tea, and Iroh thinks it is the most delightful event of the decade as Zuko scrambles in the kitchen, frightening the chefs and servants as he rummages for cinnamon.

“Zuko, you know an afternoon tea is supposed to be relaxing,” Iroh says, a smile in his words as Zuko knocks his head on the cabinet he’s digging through.

“Women are never relaxing,” Zuko hisses as he rubs his temple. “They’re confusing, rude, and terrifying—where’s the cinnamon?”

“Cinnamon?”

“For the tea,” Zuko says, pulling out a glass jar of cinnamon sticks with a triumphant nod before turning to his uncle, frowning at Iroh’s raised eyebrows. “Cinnamon tea.”

“An aphrodisiac,” Iroh says, and Zuko blanches as his uncle bursts into laughter. “What are you planning, nephew?”

“Nothing like that!” Zuko snaps, stumbling towards the tea pots and cups. “I—she said it’s her favorite tea. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“She’s the one planning then?” Iroh says amusedly, and Zuko glares at the pot as he fills it with water.

“Nothing. Like. That,” he seethes as he balances the jar of cinnamon sticks on the two cups and turns towards Iroh, avoiding his gaze as he walks out of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be in the garden on the opposite side of the palace!” Iroh calls as Zuko grits his teeth, his shame and frustration mellowing as he loses his fight against a yawn. Sleep came and went uneasily last night, barred from fully settling by Zuko’s raging thoughts and worries. He’d dissected every syllable, intonation, and smile in Katara’s words, obsessing himself into an anxious pit until he gave in to a fleetingly light sleep.

What even is an afternoon tea? Zuko places the pot and cups at a bench near one of the larger windows in the main hall, frowning into the bright sun slowly drifting down to the horizon. Is it an early afternoon tea, or is it later, more towards an evening tea? He tries to remember his uncle’s babble about water temperatures, wondering frantically if cinnamon tea is best served piping hot or lukewarm, wondering if he should even fix cinnamon tea with its apparent effects.

It’s _tea_. Why is Zuko panicking over two cups of stupid tea? He should be panicking about the state of his nation, the relations between the other kingdoms and tribes, the taxes he burned yesterday. Zuko fiddles with the cinnamon jar’s lid, frowning and muttering to himself like a madman, oblivious to the soft tap of footsteps behind him until a quietly cleared throat jolts him to reality.

“You look worse than last night,” Katara says in way of greeting as Zuko turns around, fingers still drumming against the jar’s lid. Blunt as always, but there’s nothing vicious in her soft eyes as she tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

“I need to sleep,” Zuko says without thinking, fingers tapping the glass in a nervous habit, and he stares as Katara tilts her head slightly, eyes flickering with subdued suspicion. “Really, really badly. Also, hello to you, too. You look wonderful today.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Katara’s eyes still analyze him with doubt, and Zuko’s not quite sure why he agreed to this tea—tea is very much stupid in the way of getting to know someone, with the side effects. The potential burning of the tongue, and whatnot. He’s inclined to excuse himself permanently from this situation and all future encounters, not entirely feeling the whole panic and anxiety ridden state of mind, and from the look Katara’s giving him he’s certainly feeling like an inconvenience, an annoyance—

“Can we sit down?” Katara asks, placing her hands over his, and Zuko’s blur of thoughts and drumming fingers freeze. She eyes him carefully before prying the cinnamon jar from him, and maybe he’s forgotten how to properly breath from the sheer force of his fucking nerves. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Sitting’s fine,” Zuko manages as he drops onto the bench, trying to twist his lips into a smile and failing miserably.

“Are you fine?” Katara asks as she sitting next to him, unscrewing the lid and pulling out two sticks of cinnamon. Zuko forces his tense shoulders into a shrug as she drops two sticks in each cup. Her eyebrow flicks upward expectantly, and he blinks as she sighs, lifting the tea pot and placing it in his hands.

“Quite honestly I don’t know,” Zuko admits, sending warmth to his hands and boiling the water until it whistles. “This is…not my cup of tea.” Katara snorts, watching as he pours the water into the cups and sets the pot aside.

“Dates aren’t your thing?” Katara asks, and Zuko thinks for once, choosing his words carefully under her piercing gaze.

“They aren’t,” Zuko says hesitantly, “but having tea with a…with a friend when I haven’t slept in ages is also not my thing.”

“Tea with a friend,” Katara echoes, her gaze shifting to her drink as she absentmindedly twirls her finger, bending the water in circles in the cup. There are other words on her tongue, but she seems to bite them back, and Zuko decides to simply throw all his cards in, betting that even if he burns and crashes it would be better than this.

“Unless you want this mess to be a date,” he offers, silently begging the spirits for an ounce of good fortune as Katara’s eyes narrow and lift to meet his. “If that’s the case, well, we could have done something much nicer than a simple afternoon tea.”

“I happen to like simple,” Katara says coolly, raising her cup and tipping it to her lips, and Zuko realizes the pain in his head is definitely a headache from the circles this conversation is running in.

“That—That’s good.” Zuko nods to himself, picking up his own cup and drinking the spicy tea in hopes to wake up his dull brain. Katara narrows her eyes, and he looks away with a nervous chuckle. 

“For the spirits’ sakes,” she mutters angrily, and Zuko nearly chokes as Katara’s eyes glint and she shoots up, dropping the cup next to the tea pot.

“Yes—”

“You need to sleep,” she says angrily, and though Zuko certainly doesn’t disagree, he doesn’t make a move to stand. “Now.”

“Now?” Zuko echoes as he places the cup at his side, and he jumps when Katara grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“You are officially a pain to talk to,” she rants angrily, letting go of his hand to storm towards his private chamber with an annoyed sigh, leaving Zuko no choice but to follow with a twinge of anger sparking in his veins. “How could you be so dense to not realize that yes, this was supposed to be a date. Did you happen to forget last night, or are you simply that oblivious?”

“I happen to be both forgetful _and_ oblivious,” Zuko snaps scathingly as she pushes open the door to his room, and he rushes in to light the candles with a quick wave. Katara turns to him with those annoying eyes filled with scrutiny, pointing rudely at him as he shuts the door.

“How can you be oblivious to something that obvious?” she demands, and Zuko clenches his jaw.

“You haven’t been very forward in the slightest!” he shouts, glaring down at Katara as she walks to him, hands lifted and grabbing the front of his shirt. His back is pressed against the wall, and in all of his dreadful fantasies that have haunted him this past week, being furiously angry and turned on is not what he expected to happen, and he never expected to see the same feelings mirrored in Katara’s eyes.

“Do you want something more obvious?” she hisses, and Zuko doesn’t even need to respond, doesn’t even have a chance before warm lips smash against his, and his angry resolve melts like hillside snow, drawing him closer to the open flame kissing him so passionately. A deep burning within him drives away every bit of his lingering exhaustion and delirium, and his hands drift upwards to hold Katara’s face, tilting it just so as her mouth opens with a sigh. Her fists flatten against his shirt, pushing upwards in a fluid motion to tangle in the hair at his neck, and Zuko’s hand falls to her waist, pulling her flush against him as he breaks from her lips with a shaking breath.

“You—You could have done that yesterday,” he mutters, trying to be cheeky but utterly failing as his voice gives out at the end. Katara’s eyes open, a slight smile dancing on her lips, and Zuko never knew deep blue could burn hotter than a free flame.

“Where would the fun of anticipation be then?” she shoots back, and of course she manages to sound cheeky in spite of the pleasant blush darkening her face. A smile tips Zuko’s lips upwards as Katara grins, and for a moment he’s utterly spellbound by the candles playing shadows across her lips, their light swimming in her eyes, and because Zuko is all about the disgusting romantic shit he denies loving, he slips his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. Katara smells like cinnamon and seafoam, and her light laughter brushes over his ear.

“I didn’t peg you as the gooey romantic,” she says as Zuko sighs contently, shamelessly kissing his way down her neck. Her hands twist in his hair as her breath hitches, and he smiles against her collarbone.

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters and drags his teeth lightly over her skin, stifling a groan as she tugs at his hair.

“Keep surprising me,” she says, voice no longer teasing, but a breathless and faint whisper that tests Zuko’s self-control and has him all but groaning as her hands flit under his shirt. Fingernails drag up his torso as his lips press against the dip between Katara’s neck and collarbone, eliciting a soft gasp from her sweet lips, and Zuko can’t help but pull away only to catch her lips in a fiery kiss of tongues and heavy, heated breaths. Her teeth catch on his bottom lip, tugging before she breaks away, and there’s a sharp whine that Zuko realizes only moments after came from him, and he freezes as Katara _glows_ with laughter.

“Shut up,” Zuko groans, burying his face in his hands as she pulls away, giggling like a schoolgirl. “ _Shut up_.”

“I never— _never_ imagined in a million, trillion years,” Katara manages through her howling laughs, “that _the_ Fire Lord Zuko would make a sound like _that_.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Zuko says exasperatedly, grimacing as her hands rest over his, guiding them away from his face and brushing the ragged scar. 

“It’s adorable,” Katara says with a giddy smile as she pulls him away from the wall and towards his bed. “And very hot.”

“Hot?” Zuko grumbles as he falls onto the bed after Katara, huffing as he braces himself over her. “You have some weird preferences.”

“You have no idea.” Zuko’s breath catches as Katara’s eyes grow infinitely darker in his shadow, and spirits, he wants to press against her, undress her piece by piece and lavish every part of her until she’s in the throws of ecstasy.

“I don’t,” Zuko breaths, dropping to his forearms as his eyes dart from her eyes to her lips, drifting lower and lower. “But please, by all means give me an idea.” It takes seconds for his shirt to come off and a mere moment before all of their clothes are cast to the floor and across the room. Zuko’s drowning in heat hotter than flames and loving every moment of it, adoring every moan that slips from Katara’s lips, every gasp she pulls from him, and the point of breaking where he’s utterly helpless in hot white bliss alongside her.


End file.
